A few weeks had crawled by since I last saw Scarlett, the new recruit at the haunted hookup attraction. They said the initiation was hell, a brutal plunge into a world fueled by lust and shadows. The thought of her pressing her body against strangers, learning the art of seduction for the night shifts, twisted a knife in my gut. Jealousy consumed me, a dark cloud that hung over my thoughts. I should have been the one training her, showing her all the ways she could drive me wild, teaching her how to submit to my desires. Instead, she was learning to serve others, and that thought festered like an open wound.
As the night wrapped its cold fingers around my mansion on the hills, I poured myself a glass of bourbon, letting the warmth spread through me. I sat in my office, surrounded by the artifacts of my darker world—tattered books on the supernatural, maxed out horror movie memorabilia, and my collection of the bizarre. But tonight, I craved something more thrilling. My mind sparked with the idea of seeing her, of intruding into her space, even if just for a moment.
I found myself reaching for my laptop, fingers hovering over the keys as I searched for her hotel. Room 335. I'd learned that detail from the gossip around the office, but something about it felt invasive, exhilarating. After a quick call to the front desk, I secured a key, the woman behind the counter blissfully unaware of my intentions.
I drove through the winding roads, the trees looming like dark sentinels against the starless sky, my heart pounding with adrenaline. When I reached the hotel, my pulse surged, excitement mingling with an unsettling thrill. Stepping into the elevator, I felt the walls closing in around me, a reminder of how close I was to her.
I navigated the dimly lit hallway with purpose until I stood before Room 335. Taking a deep breath, I inserted the key and twisted the handle. The door creaked open, revealing her little sanctuary.
Scarlett lay in bed, her chest rising and falling softly, the very picture of innocence in the pale glow of the moonlight. I felt a strange mix of tenderness and hunger pulsing through me. She was beautiful, even in her sleep. Her red hair sprawled across the pillows, her lips slightly parted—a siren in a world that thrived on fear and desire.
As I wandered around her room, I took in the organized chaos of her life—a stack of worn books on hauntings, an array of costumes meticulously folded, make-up supplies carefully arranged. She looked exhausted, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of guilt. This had to be tough for her.
But anger quickly replaced my guilt. The thought of her giving her energy to some stranger was unbearable. I glanced at the nightstand and noticed a vase—emptied, like my heart. Without overthinking it, I reached for the blue roses I'd grabbed on a whim from the florist earlier. Their bold color presented a sharp contrast to the subdued room. I placed them carefully beside her, feeling a thrill rush through me as I lingered in her presence, imagining the morning shock on her face when she'd find them.
Could she sense me? My breath caught in my throat as I looked at her. I wanted her to wake up, terrified yet curious, wondering who had invaded her space. Curiosity mixed with fear was the perfect cocktail; it was precisely how I wanted her to feel about me—immensely drawn to me, yet unsettled.
I stepped back, quelling the urge to wake her. Instead, I allowed myself one last lingering look at her; the way her lips parted, the softness of her skin, the rhythm of her breathing.
With one final glance, I left, closing the door softly behind me, my heart thudding in my chest. The night surrounded me as I made my way back to the mansion, exhilaration coursing through my veins. Thoughts of her haunted me—what would she think when she awoke? Would she feel the fear I hoped to instill, or would she linger somewhere between intrigue and dread?
As I settled into my dark, expansive home, I imagined the morning sun creeping into her room, the light illuminating the delicate blue roses. My mind raced with possibilities—possibilities where she was mine and I was poised to claim her fully, marking her not just with roses but with my name, my essence—the master of shadows her only keeper. And as the night deepened, I mused upon the true art of seduction—the thrilling dance of fear and desire, and how I intended to make her mine.